


this song is instrumental

by orphan_account



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stéphane writes on Johnny's skin. Light kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this song is instrumental

Johnny's back arches. His mouth falls open and he gasps, eyes wide.

"You okay?"

There's a lick down his spine, just between the graceful curves of his shoulderblades, a rough little tongue, followed by the soft brush of a feather. "God," he moans, rubbing his erection hard against the mattress.

Stéphane must be smiling, Johnny can feel the curling of his lips against his skin just above the little bump of his tailbone.

"How about this?" he whispers.

The quill moves again, rustles against naked skin, probably Stéphane's fingers, and then it's on him again, and he feels liquid ink slide smoothly down the path Stéphane's tongue has taken before as he carefully draws symbols on Johnny's back, just barely scraping the surface.

"Oh," Johnny says.

"Shhhh," Stéphane replies, blowing a bit of air over the runny ink, cool, trying to dry it out. "Don't move."

"I - I'm _trying_ ," Johnny whispers. It's so hard when he needs some friction, when he needs to -

"Shhh. You don't want to ruin it, do you?"

"What is it?" Johnny asks, can't quite keep his hips still. There are little black spots on his shoulders, he can see them blurry out of the corner of his eyes when he turns his head far to the right. The quill's back on his skin, drawing another rune across his lower back this time, where his waist meets his hip, and Stéphane's fingers are touching the inside of his thigh, making him spread his legs wider.

"Don't," Stéphane rebukes, urging him to still. "Don't move. It'll streak. It has to be - perfect."

"I'm -"

"Perfect, yes." Stéphane leans down and kisses just below the newest symbol. Then he blows some more air and makes Johnny shiver. It would be cold if it wasn't so hot. He needs to touch his cock, but he's afraid to move.

"Turn around."

"What -?"

"It's dry. Careful. It just needs a few seconds. Turn around. I want to do your stomach."

"Stéphane -"

"Shhh. It looks beautiful. Just turn around."

Johnny shivers as another kiss lands on his skin, lower back this time, and Stéphane's tongue follows the path over his hip to the front, licking over his jutted-out hipbone to his navel, dipping in. His cock grows harder than before. He moans.

"Look," Stéphane points, forcing his eyes to re-open.

He's holding the quill just above Johnny's navel, just above the tip of his own tongue, and then pulls away. The quill is beautiful, tall and slender, white-bluish, like the color of ocean-water smothered with foam. It feels like a tiny kitten's claw against him as it touches, paints another black streak over his skin.

He feels himself tremble, goose-bumps rising on his arms as it quickly grows, another line and another one, one of those celtic patterns like he's seen on coins and pictures, beautiful, elegant.

"What..." he has to swallow, bury another moan. "What does it mean?"

It's by his hip now, and the ink on his stomach's dry. It looks like a tattoo, but it's finer, the lines are thinner, not inside his skin but above. It feels like a caress.

"Different things," Stéphane mumbles and his right keeps drawing. His left slides down Johnny's side, thumb flicking over his nipple, making him draw a sharp breath. "Don't come."

"I'm - I'm not." Just barely.

"Good." Stéphane smiles up at him. His eyes are shining.

"That one," Johnny points with his chin towards the sign at his hip, apart from the others, not part of the larger pattern - to distract himself. He's starting to sweat. He's been sweating for hours, but there's a droplet on the bridge of his nose. In a minute, it'll be his chest and his arms and thighs and it'll destroy Stéphane's work. "What's that one?"

Stéphane shakes his head minutely and the quill does a sharp jut up and the pattern continues, just below his nipple, putting his nerves on fire. He throws his head back, baring his neck, breathing hard.

"Fertility," Stéphane finally mumbles. "That one. One of the few I remember."

There's another one apart from the pattern, just at the juncture of his rib bones. "What's - what's that one mean?" His hand twitches towards his cock and Stéphane catches it in his left, holding it still. His fingers are sweaty, too, slick. He smells like water, and chocolate cookies.

Stéphane stops drawing, takes the quill off Johnny's skin. The loss is painful, and Johnny hears himself groan. But then Stéphane lets go of his hand and his fingers slide down, down his abdomen between his legs to touch his erection and he strains into the touch, putting up his feet, bending his knees, letting them fall apart to give him easier access.

"That one's special," he says, and Johnny keens into his mouth as he touches their lips together. His tongue flickers out just as his thumb ghosts over the head of Johnny's cock. "You know what it means."

Johnny gasps when his grip tightenes. "What?" he blurts, panting harshly.

Stéphane half-smiles and the quill comes up, just a tiny touch to his lips. The ink tastes bitter on his tongue when he licks. "Love," he says and the quill falls aside. Stéphane's free hand cups Johnny's face as he kisses him, deep this time, tongue chasing Johnny's taste.

Johnny rocks into his hand, twice, and comes, body straining, expanding under the touch, off the edge and flying, his come over Stéphane's hand and his own stomach, covering part of the pretty pattern of writing.

Stéphane lets him breathe, breaking the kiss and kisses his nose, licks the sweat off his face. He lets go of Johnny's cock slowly, gently. "Now..." he starts, looking down Johnny's body, over the work of art, then back up into his eyes.

Johnny's fighting to get his brain to work. "What?" he gasps, and feels a shower of pleasure rain down his spine at the scorching look he gets.

"Now I fuck you."

 

~*~


End file.
